Storm
by obsessedwithstabler
Summary: The things that scare us as children, still scare us as adults.


With much excitement, I give you guys my second Burn Notice story. No character deaths, but there is foul language, mentions of child abuse, and a sex scene cause Burn Notice is awesome that way. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine!

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Michael Westen whimpered as he hid under his covers, listening for the sound of staggering footsteps.

At the tender age of seven, he already knew that telling the difference between good steps and bad steps often saved him from a beating. If his father came home stumbling and running into things, it would be a bad night. If he came home whistling and smelling of strange perfumes, Michael would be lucky to get a pat on the head and go unnoticed for the rest of the night.

Those days didn't happen often anymore.

Finally the front door swung open, and Michael's ears perked up. His stomach sank when he heard a crashing sound, followed by a string of curse words. He heard his own name, and he frantically scrambled out of his bed. But before he could find a safe spot, his bedroom door burst open, and his father stumbled into the room.

"Get over here, you little shit," Frank Westen sneered. Michael didn't move, and Frank snatched him up roughly.

"Gonna teach you a lesson…" He dragged Michael to the closet.

Michael's eyes widened with fear. He was afraid of the dark, and had been for as long as he could remember. But if he fought back, his father would beat him even worse.

Frank threw the closet door open and shoved Michael in. Then he slammed the door shut, shoving a chair against the knob so the boy couldn't escape. Satisfied, he stumbled back out of the room, muttering to himself about making a man out of his seven year old boy.

In the closet, Michael curled up in a ball and buried his face in his arms.

He hated the dark…

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Michael Westen shot upright in his bed, his chest heaving as he gasped silently. How many times had his sleep been disturbed by the same recurring dream? Getting shoved into the closet by his father, being trapped for hours until his mother came and got him out…

He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands as he caught his breath. No matter how old he got, no matter how much he tried to ration with his mind, he was still afraid of the dark.

A hand reached out and touched his bare back, and a soft breath caressed the back of his neck. "What's wrong, Michael?"

Immediately he felt himself relax as Fiona wrapped her arms around him. As much as this woman tormented him sometimes, she also brought about a deep sense of peace, a peace he had never felt before. She steadied him, and just when he least expected it, she threw him for a loop. It was one of the many qualities that made her…Fiona.

She kissed her way along the back of his neck. "Michael?"

He let her guide him back against the pillows, and as he settled into her arms, he whispered, "Fi?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"What were you afraid of…as a child?"

Even in the dark, she could see his face courtesy of the moonlight that streamed through the window. "Why?"

"Please?"

She absently ran her hand over his thick hair. "Well… I suppose the monster that my mother told me lurked under my bed. Then she would get mad at me when I wouldn't clean under it."

He finally smiled, envisioning a seven year old Fiona with pigtails and a missing front tooth.

"Why are you asking, Michael?"

His hand came to rest on the small of her back, and his fingertips rubbed her skin. "I was…afraid of the dark." He moved his head closer to hers.

"A lot of kids are."

"Not a lot of kids are locked in the closet for hours by their drunk father."

Fiona's lip twitched. She pressed herself closer to Michael, her finger running lightly over his chest. If Frank Westen wasn't already dead, she was certain she'd be heading his way with a case of explosives and a couple of her favorite guns.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the path her finger was taking. "Fi…"

Before he could say another word, her mouth was on his, hot and probing. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him without breaking the kiss.

Automatically his hands settled on her hips. Usually these sessions were much more violent on her part, but tonight, she seemed to feel his need to just connect.

Outside, thunder rumbled lowly in the distance. A flash of lightning briefly lit up the apartment.

They moved together, slowly at first, then more frantically as their own perfect storm built. And when they both gasped and she collapsed into his open arms, sated, he held her so tight he briefly worried that she could break. But then he remembered who he was holding, and he held her even closer.

Fiona settled on his chest and relished the embrace. Whatever the nightmare, it seemed she could chase it away with her touch. It was a skill that they both appreciated.

Slowly he rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. His hand started caressing her back, and he kissed her forehead gently. "Thanks, Fi," he finally whispered.

She smirked, and when his breathing evened out, she spoke softly.

"Sweet dreams, Michael."

The End.

A/N: Yay for Michael and Fiona sweetness! Thanks for reading, and please review!


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